


Series of One-Shots Involving Spain

by SpanishCoatofArms



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Bonding, Brotherly Affection, Brotherly Love, Chibi Spain (Hetalia), England & Spain relation, Friendship, Friendship/Love, Gen, Happy Spain (Hetalia), Hetalia Countries Using Human Names, Historical Hetalia, Jealous Spain, Jealousy, One Shot
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-12
Updated: 2020-06-16
Packaged: 2021-02-27 14:33:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 2,525
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22218616
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SpanishCoatofArms/pseuds/SpanishCoatofArms
Summary: 🍅𝕾𝖞𝖓𝖔𝖕𝖘𝖎𝖘: This is a series of creative writing that features APH Spain with various characters. Some will be original work and some will be inspired from various fan-art found online. Tag will updated with each new chapter.【🍅𝕮𝖔𝖓𝖘𝖙𝖗𝖚𝖈𝖙𝖎𝖛𝖊 𝖈𝖗𝖎𝖙𝖎𝖈𝖎𝖘𝖒 𝖔𝖓𝖑𝖞 𝖕𝖑𝖊𝖆𝖘𝖊, 𝖙𝖍𝖆𝖓𝖐 𝖞𝖔𝖚!🍅】
Relationships: England & Portugal (Hetalia), England & Spain (Hetalia), England/Spain (Hetalia), Portugal & Spain (Hetalia), Portugal/Spain (Hetalia)
Kudos: 23





	1. Spain & England

【🍅𝕻𝖍𝖔𝖙𝖔-𝖎𝖓𝖘𝖕𝖎𝖗𝖊𝖉 𝖜𝖗𝖎𝖙𝖎𝖓𝖌🍅】

Since the beginning of time, fundamental differences and contention over territories were the hallmarks of their tumultuous history that had kept the two nations on opposing sides. Even when they were mere babes in the wood, swaddled in cloths, there was very little common ground between the two of them. Taken in by France and the House of Bourbon, rivalry became a second-nature to the Kingdom of Spain when it comes to the British nation. From teasing remarks to outright warfare, mutual marauding and sending good men to die in their own respective bid for petty victory, all of that fitted Antonio like a well-worn glove.

Perhaps that was the reason he treasured fleeting moment like this: Standing in close proximity to Arthur with no trace of malicious intention between them. No, quite the opposite in fact; this, Antonio reflected with equal parts of nostalgia and pleasure and contentment, this was as close to camaraderie as it could ever be with the mischievous Britt. For just a little while, there was no one around to remind them of their volatile history and they didn’t have to play the parts of antagonist to each other.

“Amigo, sabes que quiero lo mejor para ti,” began Antonio, all tenderness and good humor, “You must allow me to cook for you tonight. If you must insist, you can bring your raspberry scones for dessert. I have survived your nourishment many times before and I will triumph again.” The playful Spaniard playfully head-butted the Britt, grinning all the while the other returned with a rare smile of his own.

Britain reminded him so much of a particularly cantankerous, mistreated gattito that required patience and time before he would deem another person worthy of his companionship. Antonio treasured moments like this partly because it felt as though he has achieved something most incredible and rare. There was nobody around to remind him of the many transgressions committed against his people at the hands of Arthur or to stir up the ache in the Spaniard’s heart by the mentioning the tragedy of his precious Armada. During times like this, Antonio was able to simply forget and indulge himself in the company of the other green-eyed nation.

These kinds of moment…They never last. The idea of them returning to their usual state of hostility and rivalry tugged away at something inside of the Spaniard. It was always so transient that it had him clinging on to it dearly.

No, Arthur, the melody is fine, like sparkling wine.  
I like slow music like this, I promise, said Antonio. 

It’s going fast enough…

【Ｔｈｅ ｏｒｉｇｉｎａｌ ａｒｔ ｉｓ ｒｅｇｒｅｔｔａｂｌｙ ｎｏｔ ｍｉｎｅ． Ｅｄｉｔｅｄ ｗｉｔｈ Ｐｈｏｔｏｓｈｏｐ．】  
𝕍𝕚𝕟𝕥𝕒𝕘𝕖 𝔽𝕣𝕒𝕞𝕖 𝕊𝕠𝕦𝕣𝕔𝕖: 𝕥𝕙𝕖𝕔𝕠𝕗𝕗𝕖𝕖𝕤𝕙𝕠𝕡𝕓𝕝𝕠𝕘.𝕔𝕠𝕞


	2. Spain & Portugal

【🍅𝕻𝖍𝖔𝖙𝖔-𝖎𝖓𝖘𝖕𝖎𝖗𝖊𝖉 𝖜𝖗𝖎𝖙𝖎𝖓𝖌🍅】  
  
Vexation simmered low and unbearable inside the Spaniard’s miniature form as he watched the British nation pawing at his hermano with those tea-stained and sticky digits that will no doubt sully Portugal’s complexion. Huffing like an irate turtle, Spain unceremoniously fling a succession of no less than three tomatoes at the smirking puta.  
  
𝓢𝓹𝓵𝓪𝓼𝓱 𝓢𝓹𝓵𝓪𝓼𝓱 𝓢𝓹𝓵𝓪𝓼𝓱! …Ahh, let it never be said that the personification of the Iberian nation doesn’t have a mean, deadly accuracy when it comes to throwing articles at his adversary. Perhaps much later, one will find the Spaniard weeping inconsolably for the noble sacrifice made by those brave, beloved fruits.  
  
But for now, as Spain pasted his tiny form against his hermano’s cheek, he was contented to purring up like a storm. He rewarded himself with nuzzle against the tip of Portugal’s nose for having successfully rescued his hermano from the fiendish Britain. Between the purring and smooches, he thought he heard Portugal trying to coax him into letting go of his face, but that must be a mistake! Hermano, come back home with me, si! The scent of dessert wine and custard tarts from his hermano’s skin was almost as good as churros and tomatoes. He smells so much like home!  
  
Come back to me, Portugal, you can have anything you want. What? Of course I’ll acknowledge your independence from me, Spain lied so, so earnestly. Bright, emerald optics shone with absolute adoration and theatrical proclamations of filial love and promises on his lips. Come back home with me, por favor, Portugal!  
  
【Ｔｈｅ ｏｒｉｇｉｎａｌ ａｒｔ ｉｓ ｒｅｇｒｅｔｔａｂｌｙ ｎｏｔ ｍｉｎｅ． Ｅｄｉｔｅｄ ｗｉｔｈ Ｐｈｏｔｏｓｈｏｐ．】  
𝕍𝕚𝕟𝕥𝕒𝕘𝕖 𝔽𝕣𝕒𝕞𝕖 𝕊𝕠𝕦𝕣𝕔𝕖: 𝕥𝕙𝕖𝕔𝕠𝕗𝕗𝕖𝕖𝕤𝕙𝕠𝕡𝕓𝕝𝕠𝕘.𝕔𝕠𝕞


	3. Spain & England

【🍅𝕻𝖍𝖔𝖙𝖔-𝖎𝖓𝖘𝖕𝖎𝖗𝖊𝖉 𝖜𝖗𝖎𝖙𝖎𝖓𝖌🍅】

Frustration has been a default state of mind to the personification of Great Britain for the longest time when it comes to the Iberian nation. All things considered, he should have been better prepared with logical reasoning, anticipated the inevitably snarky remarks and scoffs from the other nation. However, in hind side, Arthur also knew that all of that work would not have been enough anyway. Then barged in Francis, that bloody tawdry frog, who had had the galls to ask him why must he speak so harshly towards the “sweet, darling Espagne.” Angleterre, diplomacy truly isn’t your strong suit, is it? At this rate, you will never get anything done with him, tsk-tsk. Utterly incredulous at the sheer absurdity of the question, the British nation’s mental filter shut down abruptly and before it had a chance to reboot itself, he barked at the Frenchman:

“Aggression is the only language that the tomato-brain will ever understand! How do you think I got this way, Francis? 𝙄 𝙪𝙨𝙚𝙙 𝙩𝙤 𝙗𝙚 𝙖 𝙜𝙚𝙣𝙩𝙡𝙚𝙢𝙚𝙣!”

Jaw dropped and presumably, mind short-circuited at the unexpected come-back, a morsel of half-chewed snail meat fell out and onto the floor with a nauseating wet sound. The British nation emitted a savage growl of exasperation and fury before stomping away to find the Spaniard, fully intending to get his point across the aforementioned tomato-brain once and for all. The Frenchman’s soundless ‘wow’ went unnoticed by the irate Britt.

He will gladly swear on the life of his own bloody Queen that he had planned out the entire speech. He had even apologized, more than once, for the embarrassing incident dated more than five years ago and tried to reassure the angry Spaniard that no, it was not his intention to accidentally invade La Linea de la Concepción's beach. For the twelve hundred times, Antonio, stop calling it an invasion. Against the wishes of the citizens who had clearly stated that they wanted to remain under the English sovereignty, he tried to work out a joint sovereignty proposal with the Spanish government. However unsuccessful the proposal has turned out to be, was that enough of an olive branch from the Britt? Righteous accusations and sarcastic retorts exploded in between the small space currently occupied by the two nations, thousands of word were thrown and yet none of them was conveying what they were tying to say.

A part of him wondered if Spain was being unreasonable on purpose when he insisted on a bilateral agreement with him and excluded any of all Gibraltar’s input. Even with his own unforgiving hold on the Spaniard’s forearm, while the other one itching to seize a handful of chocolate brown locks and slam Antonio's head against the wall, Arthur wanted him to simply stop because they were, quite bluntly and embarrassingly, arguing over a sodding piece of rock. Not to mention, the barest hint of moisture at the corner of his emerald optics was fucking distracting. God knew how hard the English nation was trying to reign in his own temper in order to meet Spain half-way.

Why won’t he ever listen to reasons?  
Why did it always have to be his way or the high way?

【Ｔｈｅ ｏｒｉｇｉｎａｌ ａｒｔ ｉｓ ｒｅｇｒｅｔｔａｂｌｙ ｎｏｔ ｍｉｎｅ． Ｅｄｉｔｅｄ ｗｉｔｈ Ｐｈｏｔｏｓｈｏｐ．】

ℙ𝕠𝕝𝕒𝕣𝕠𝕚𝕕 𝔽𝕣𝕒𝕞𝕖 𝕊𝕠𝕦𝕣𝕔𝕖: 𝕡𝕟𝕘𝕚𝕞𝕒𝕘𝕖.𝕟𝕖𝕥


	4. El Conquistador / Beauty&Brutality

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 🍅Warnings: Violence against women and children, infant death; general cruelty

【𝐁𝐞𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐲 𝐂𝐚𝐧 𝐇𝐢𝐝𝐞 𝐚 𝐌𝐮𝐥𝐭𝐢𝐭𝐮𝐝𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐒𝐢𝐧𝐬】

🌹ｆｅａｔ． ＥＬ ＣＯＮＱＵＩＳＴＡＤＯＲ🌹

Sí, España, the ring-leader is currently in our custody, José reported, obediently. We have extracted every last bit of information from him. I have also taken the liberty to order his execution, including the rest of the accomplice, by tomorrow’s noon. There was no immediate reaction from the Spaniard before him; only a small noise of serene acknowledgement and most of all, there was nothing in sight that would imply that his superior had found his decision to be lacking or inadequate. After another few seconds, José bowed, taking the silence from España as a dismissal as it was often the case.

However, a single inquisition abruptly stopped him mid-step, “𝘐 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨-𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳 𝘩𝘢𝘴 𝘢 𝘸𝘪𝘧𝘦 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘢 𝘴𝘰𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘰 𝘣𝘦 𝘣𝘰𝘳𝘯 𝘤𝘩𝘪𝘭𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘸𝘩𝘪𝘤𝘩 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘢𝘭𝘴𝘰 𝘮𝘢𝘯𝘢𝘨𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘤𝘢𝘱𝘵𝘶𝘳𝘦. 𝘐𝘴 𝘪𝘵 𝘵𝘳𝘶𝘦?”

Turning around José found the Iberian nation’s had fixed his emerald green gaze upon him. There was no discernible emotion in those orbs. If hard pressed, José would presume that he saw an undercurrent of amusement there, apathetic and eerily foreboding. It would be a lie if he should claim that he felt no apprehension at that particular line of question. Sí, España, eyes cast downward upon the stones and grass beneath his feet the adviser responded, the woman is about seven months along her pregnancy, give or take, España.

“𝘈𝘯 𝘦𝘹𝘢𝘮𝘱𝘭𝘦 𝘮𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘣𝘦 𝘮𝘢𝘥𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘦𝘯𝘴𝘶𝘳𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘴 𝘸𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘬 𝘵𝘸𝘪𝘤𝘦 𝘣𝘦𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘺 𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘥𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘮𝘢𝘬𝘦 𝘢𝘯 𝘢𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘮𝘱𝘵 𝘰𝘯 𝘮𝘺 𝘭𝘪𝘧𝘦 𝘢𝘨𝘢𝘪𝘯. 𝘋𝘰 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘢𝘨𝘳𝘦𝘦?”

There was only one correct answer and he offered exactly that. The Iberian nation had, more times than he could hope to count, drawn out the suffering on those with less severe transgression than this. “𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘬𝘯𝘪𝘧𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘭𝘪𝘵𝘵𝘭𝘦 𝘱𝘶𝘵𝘢 𝘩𝘢𝘥 𝘶𝘴𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘳𝘺 𝘵𝘰 𝘬𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘮𝘦,” began España, tone perfectly conversational as though he was merely describing how he would like to have the tomates prepared for tonight’s super,

“𝘐 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘢𝘬𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘬𝘯𝘪𝘧𝘦, 𝘤𝘶𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘩𝘪𝘭𝘥 𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘸𝘰𝘮𝘢𝘯’𝘴 𝘣𝘦𝘭𝘭𝘺 𝘪𝘯 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘯𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨-𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘭𝘪𝘵𝘵𝘭𝘦 𝘳𝘢𝘨𝘵𝘢𝘨 𝘰𝘧 𝘤𝘰𝘭𝘭𝘢𝘣𝘰𝘳𝘢𝘵𝘰𝘳𝘴. 𝘏𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘩𝘪𝘦𝘧 𝘣𝘰𝘪𝘭 𝘪𝘵 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘰 𝘭𝘪𝘲𝘶𝘪𝘥 𝘴𝘰𝘶𝘱, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘭𝘦𝘵 𝘪𝘵 𝘣𝘦 𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘯𝘦𝘳𝘴’ 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘢𝘭 𝘮𝘦𝘢𝘭, 𝘴𝘪. 𝘍𝘰𝘳𝘤𝘦 𝘧𝘦𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘮, 𝘪𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘮𝘶𝘴𝘵. 𝘐 𝘴𝘩𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘥𝘪𝘴𝘱𝘰𝘴𝘢𝘭 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘮𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘢𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘥𝘪𝘴𝘤𝘳𝘦𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯.”

José thought that perhaps, deep down, he had always known that his superior would decree such categorical cruelty the minute he stared into those eyes and that; once again, the stone that sat in the pit of stomach had been right all along. The two henchmen flanked at his sides have done an excellent job at not reacting at the Spaniard’s words. Keeping his gaze steadily on the blades of grasses, oppressed by the rushing afternoon wind and beneath the morning sun; José imagined that at this moment they must felt the exact same way he did. The only difference was that he was able to utter a single sound of acknowledgement to his superior’s order.

He also thought about the fact that he had already given his words to the ring-leader that no harm shall befall upon his wife and unborn child in exchange for valuable information. He also believed the girl, wholeheartedly, when she claimed that she had no idea what her husband was planning to do. José had had every intention of keeping his end of the bargain because he himself took no joy or glee upon senseless suffering by the innocent soul whose only guilt was being tied to the guilty person. When he looked up once more, the angelic countenance was still there upon España, excruciatingly beautiful as the Iberian nation had and always shall be, forever unmarred and instead, nourished by the exercise of indiscriminate cruelty and brutality.

He gave his words that the woman and her innocent child would not be harmed. He gave his words that their lives shall be spared. He gave his words that they shall be relocated as soon as tonight to another town far away from here. Yet, heaven knew that it was not the first time José had gone back on his promise before. And he knew that this was not going to be the last time either…

🌹~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~🌹

𝕁𝕠𝕚𝕟𝕥 𝕖𝕗𝕗𝕠𝕣𝕥 𝕖𝕕𝕚𝕥𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕨𝕚𝕥𝕙 ℙ𝕣𝕠ℂ𝕣𝕖𝕒𝕥𝕖 𝕒𝕟𝕕 ℙ𝕙𝕠𝕥𝕠𝕤𝕙𝕠𝕡 ℂ𝕊𝟜  
Forest background is Designed by upklyak / Freepik


	5. He Needed No Corporeal Disguise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 🌹𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠: The following writing exercise contains mature content, including but not limited to rape and unsafe sexual practice. Consider yourself warned, fair and square.

𝐇𝐞 𝐍𝐞𝐞𝐝𝐞𝐝 𝐍𝐨 𝐂𝐨𝐫𝐩𝐨𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐥 𝐃𝐢𝐬𝐠𝐮𝐢𝐬𝐞   
  
ｆｅａｔ． ＥＬ ＣＯＮＱＵＩＳＴＡＤＯＲ

🌹~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~🌹

El Conquistador was devastatingly beautiful, almost excruciatingly so. Imperially slim and an angelic countenance seemingly carved by God’s own two hands, even when the Spaniard donned only in a simple pair of shirt and trouser – El Conquistador was still the cynosure of all eyes and envy at the ball. Even the fair Queen of Castilla seemed infatuated with him, if the flush on her rosy cheeks and the timorous request for the pleasure of his company were of any indication. 

Beneath the King Fernandez’s careful scrutiny, he indulged Isabella with a waltz or two. Every bit of an attentive and courteous dance partner, he kept his hand above her waist and filled the space between them with casual conversation, praised her beauty and her impeccable taste in the royal gown and jewelry. España, Isabella said, you spent so many moons away from the Kingdom so, always setting sail for the New World; surely you could stay longer this time?  
  
Words of platitude coupled with a graceful spin to the lovely melody of music brought him a moment to push aside the ire that swelled within his chest at that request. His expression remained apathetic, still courteous but grimly, undeniably indifferent to those who should dare to scrutinize too closely. Fortunately enough, the song came to an end and the Spaniard managed to extract himself under the pretense of having to conclude a discussion with his war general before the end of the night. For all of his lust for gold, glory and gratification, mortal flesh never held must interest to El Conquistador, especially the average humans. Men or women, young or old, they always broke so easily and pitifully beneath his touch. 

El Conquistador did not make love to anybody, no, he subjugated them. He held them down and extracted pleasure from their flesh and sometimes, he would breach them raw without any preparation and he would keep fucking them until pain transcends into pleasure, until it felt good and his name the only prayer on their lips.  
  
Even though rumors of the barbarian treatment of his bedwarmers traveled far and wide beyond the border of España, suitors still flock to him as though they were moths attracted to flame. It was only the ones who were reluctant and hateful of the Spaniard proved to be any sort of noteworthy entertainment for him. They put up better struggle with their teeth and nail and the gratification stemmed from their unwilling climax beneath his administration a pursuit worth repeating.

They say the deadliest species are the ones that cloaked themselves in flamboyant display, designed to warn off predators and to convince said competition to think twice before attempting to engage in conflict. For El Conquistador, he needed no corporeal disguise, for his unearthly beauty grew more breathtaking with each new territory conquered and brought under the Spanish sovereignty. Unparagoned was the nation esteemed by God himself and forevermore will he continue to outshine even the brightest star in the sky…

🌹~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~🌹

𝕁𝕠𝕚𝕟𝕥 𝕖𝕗𝕗𝕠𝕣𝕥 𝕖𝕕𝕚𝕥𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕨𝕚𝕥𝕙 ℙ𝕣𝕠ℂ𝕣𝕖𝕒𝕥𝕖 𝕒𝕟𝕕 ℙ𝕙𝕠𝕥𝕠𝕤𝕙𝕠𝕡 ℂ𝕊𝟜


End file.
